


Reviewing His Assets

by LazyPerfectionist



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Public Sex, apparently i just write smut now, that's fine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:13:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24948976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyPerfectionist/pseuds/LazyPerfectionist
Summary: You sit down to help Hisoka work on his financial portfolio. He has different plans.
Relationships: Hisoka (Hunter x Hunter)/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 84





	Reviewing His Assets

You sipped the last of your coffee, tapping your foot impatiently under the desk as you watched the clock on the bottom right corner of your office computer.

Late. Your client was late.

And as a result, you were now almost twenty minutes into your already too short lunch break, which you usually took starting 11:30am, just so that you could cover phone calls during the noon hours when everyone else would leave the office.

How could someone be late when it comes to talking about money? Didn’t they care?

Suddenly, you heard a sharp knock on your door, as if the very heavens were telling you to get over yourself. Hastily setting your mug down, and quickly closing out of Facelook, you fixed your customer service smile back onto your face and sat up straight in your chair, the picture of professionalism. You wouldn’t let whatever sloppy everyman who came in ruin your dedication to your craft.

Before you could even say ‘Come on in!’, a tall, somehow attractively disheveled-looking young man burst into the room, pausing briefly as he looked around, then giving you a half-smile that was almost inappropriately seductive. Or maybe you were just imagining it.

“Sorry that I’m late.” He said with a soft chuckle, adjusting his loose tie and smoothing out his slightly tight suit jacket as he sat down in the chair across from you, without asking your permission.

You faltered just a little bit before standing up and reaching out your hand to shake his, and introducing yourself as his new financial advisor. 

“Mr. M-Morow, is it?” You said, warmth settling in your cheeks as you looked him in the eyes. It was a warm summer day, but just a few hours ago the room had been freezing. His eyes were golden, narrow and heavy-lidded which gave him the impression of studying you a little too closely, which you realized was making you a little bit uncomfortable. He nodded slowly, still smiling all the while, his legs crossed and leaning forward. He was waiting for you to speak. 

While you opened up his portfolio and took a look at his rudimentary profile, all you could think of was how the clearly-borrowed, ill-fitting navy suit outlined his broad shoulders, narrow waist and obviously muscular arms. You gulped slightly focusing on the screen before you.

“I-It looks like you have never made any investments before,” you said, your voice higher than usual. You silently berated yourself in your head; this was so embarrassing. You hoped your pits weren’t sweating through your blouse with how warm it was in the room. You really needed to fix the AC the moment this meeting was done.

He didn’t respond, so you looked back at him for a nonverbal response, and he was still watching you carefully, now leaned in even further, his chin resting in his hand.

This was too much. Your heart started to pound, and you started talking loudly to distract yourself.

“Do you own a mortgage or have a car that you’re leasing currently?” You asked. 

“Nope,” he said, curtly.

“Okay, uh.. Do you have any overseas investments?” You followed up now, hoping for a reasonable response you could work with. 

“None at all,” he almost sang.

You turned to him again, your concern about his financial profile now outweighing your concern about how you were going to keep your panties dry during this meeting. You hated when people made your job difficult for you.

“What made you interested in investing now?” You asked, as politely as possible. While he was 28 years old based on his application, which was younger than many people who came into your office, he seemed disinterested himself in this meeting, his gaze still resting comfortably on you.

“I recently came into a large sum of money.”

“Inheritance?” You asked, preparing to give condolences to a likely deceased family member.

“Prize money,” he leaned back in his chair, relaxed and crossing his arms over his chest. A power pose. “To be fair, I’ve been winning the same amount every year, but it’s been building up.”

“What do you do for a living?” You clarified. He hadn’t written anything in the application in the occupation section, you had noticed earlier.

“Why, fight, of course,” he said, with another mischievous grin. 

You’d worked with people who were boxers or other types of athletes before, but for some reason, you had the impression that what he was referring to was different. The most important question to ask in his case was what he would do when he was no longer able to fight. That was the issue that plagued a lot of these types of clients.

When you asked him this very question, he laughed as if it were the most ridiculous thing to ask in the world. You might as well have told him to prepare for when he grew a third eyeball in the middle of his head. But then he added, “You do raise a good point, which is the very reason why I’m here today, on a friend’s recommendation.”

You gave him an odd look again, and turned back to your computer, still confused at his amusement from earlier. Then you took a quick look at his stated monetary assets and paled.

200 million Jenny a year? And no investments? This man was a financial disaster. 

“Would it be alright if I make a suggestion?” You started, whipping around in your chair to face him, only to find that he had moved almost imperceptibly to look over your shoulder at the computer.

You almost jumped, your heart beating out of your chest. 

“... Mr. Morow?” You started, looking up at him from where you were seated.

“Oh, am I too close?” He said, now with a low, sultry voice as he rested his hand on the back of your chair. 

_Yes, he’s too fucking close, what the hell does he mean, ‘am I too close?’_ , you thought, both angry and flustered, but then he suddenly took a seat on the desk before you, hugging one knee.

“I can sense exactly how you feel about me, and I find you quite delicious myself.”

And now your heart was beating in an actual frenzy. Your mouth opened and closed, stunned. Was this really happening? At work? You glanced at the door, now concerned that at any moment, someone would walk in and find you getting a little too comfortable with your client. He saw your eyes travel frantically, and in an excessive show of confidence walked over to the door and promptly locked it.

Then he pulled off his suit jacket and tossed it aside, shaking out his well-built arms now that they were free from the restrictive fabric.

“If you aren’t too loud, no one will know.”

That was enough to convince you. 

He was before you quickly and hoisted you up onto the desk before kissing you on the neck, then lips, then in a trail down your chest between your breasts once you had unfastened the buttons of your blouse as fast as you possibly could. He unhooked the clasps of your bra, which somehow conveniently were at the front instead of the back, and palmed a breast, then both as he laid you onto your back, kissing hungrily all the while. Your legs hanging off the edge of the desk, he pulled down your already soaked panties, and tested the wetness of your heat with two fingers.

Sufficiently satisfied with your arousal, he flipped you over on your back so that you were bent over the desk. 

“Why aren’t you a dirty, dirty woman?” He whispered, pulling onto your hair just so, enough that your back arched. “This is just so incredibly unprofessional.”

Too embarrassed to speak and too worried to be heard outside, you stayed silent as he grabbed a handful of your ass. You decided to focus instead on the flood of sensation washing over you - the heat rising in the pit of your belly, the searing pain of his rough grip on your skin, and the clang of his belt unbuckling as he undid his pants. 

And in just mere moments, he was entering you, and you bit your lip hard enough you were sure you tasted blood to prevent yourself from crying out at the painful but delightful plunge of his hard cock into you. He continued to rut inside you, his hands in your hair, then around your throat and then gripping your hips as he moved faster and faster inside you, challenging your ability to stay stoic with a firm slap of your ass every so often. 

You couldn’t help but let out a soft moan several thrusts in, and he leaned over, whispering into your ear to tease you.

“It looks like you’re not too worried about losing your job.”

And to that your fire only increased, your walls tightening around him, and your eyes now stinging from the overwhelming pleasure you felt. 

And then he finally became more and more erratic, holding pressure on your bruising hips as he finally came, timed just mere seconds after you had tipped over into a shaking extremis and collapsed, sprawling over the desk. 

Dislodging from you, he quickly redressed, you still shaking and panting from pleasure, and sat back down in front of you, legs crossed and smiling as you struggled to reorganize yourself, a quivering mess.

“So about my assets, you were saying?” He said, at normal volume now, a sparkle in his eye.


End file.
